The Magic of Music
by XphiaDP
Summary: It happened just out of view. It sounded quietly in the noise of the streets. It happened in the chalk doodles on the sidewalks and in the paint that marred crumbling walls. It was heard in the rhythmic slap of jumping ropes and in the tunes of nursery rhymes. He could see it all and once believed that he was alone in knowing of this magical underground. He had never been so wrong.


Shibuya always did have a unique type of air about it, an energy that most visitors could never place. Even most of the inhabitants were clueless as to where the thriving air of the concrete jungles came from. It was a mystery to most even though they lived in the effects. They just never cared or simply couldn't care to notice.

It happened just out of view. It sounded quietly amongst the noise of the streets. It happened in the quiet chants of children and in the howls of the alleyways. It happened in the senseless chalk doodles on the sidewalks and in the paint that marred crumbling walls. It was heard in the rhythmic slap of jumping ropes and in the tunes of nursery rhymes. It was everywhere but if you were to ask the stranger on the street about it, it was nowhere.

Yet somehow, despite all odds, he could see it, that almost underground community that existed just beyond the human plane of knowing. He saw the fires spark to life around small fingertips and he heard the static of summoning. A small flash of the sun off of metal meant that some thought was being listened to and altered. The steps in the street were the ticks of a city's internal clock.

But most of all, he could hear it. The chaotic music of the streets, the childish scribbles on the sidewalk, and the masterpieces that lined alleyway, he could hear them all. Each new spell, each tiny charm, each beginner incantation, each masterful line carried a tune of its own and he loved them. He loved to sit back in his room, window open, listening to the spells weave themselves into the atmosphere. He loved to trail his fingers on the bold art staining the faded bricks and watched as the paint shifted to its song. He loved to sit in the restaurants and listen to the bubbling of various brews, a note popping with each bubble. In one curious café, he watched as a barista went into the back room mixing a new elixir only to blankly deny ever doing so when questioned.

He could see it. He could hear it. Yet, he soon learned that no one else could.

At some point in his life, he had tried to get other people to see, to listen. At some point, he begged for others to notice and show that he was not actually going crazy. At some point, he cared about others and wanted them to see the absolute glory of this world. At some point, he had begun to expect being shot down. At some point, he had learned to stop caring.

The headphones soon became his new solace, almost never leaving his ears. The city had become too loud for him to hear the sounds he so loved and cherished. The mocking jeers and suspicious whispers dominated his senses. No one cared about the odd boy who claimed magic roamed the streets of their beloved city. No one listened to the freak insisting that static monsters slipped between the shadows. No one listened and now, neither did he.

He had locked himself away from the world and its wonders and scorn. He had closed off his mind to the childish fantasies he had once held so close. He never thought back to his _at some point_ and decided that it was just a dream. Reality could have never been that bright and magical. No, reality was bleak and grey. Reality didn't have graffiti animals or spontaneous fire. Reality had liars and fakes and masks and pretenses. He had long since accepted this reality as the truth and forced his bright illusions from his mind.

The magic never left though. He could still see it, fleeting on the edges of his vision. The music of magic still penetrated his mind. His bangs grew longer, hiding the outside world from sight. His music became louder so the spells couldn't reach him. A collar covered his mouth so people don't notice the odd kid on the streets subconsciously mouthing the spells that he was trying so hard to escape.

Eventually, blocking it all out became too much. Nothing he had done worked and eventually he gave up trying there too. It was all pointless anyways. The title of freak had followed him enough that he had realized there was no escaping it and that there was no point in trying to change it. If it was a freak they wanted, it was a freak they had gotten.

He retreated to his room and copied down the spells and symbols he had encountered. He murmured the spells under his breath and sought out the necessary items needed for various incantations he saw. At school, he kept a small notebook filled with the magic he encountered so he could try it once away from judging eyes. Eventually, he was able to recreate some of the things he saw.

So maybe his earbuds for school would never tangle and he would never trip over nothing ever again. Maybe he could always manage to open up his textbook to the right number and could always locate something that was lost. That pen that just always seemed to return to him whenever he lost it was merely coincidental. His accomplishments that could be seen by others were small and unassuming but they were accomplishments nonetheless.

At home, things were more exciting. Small orbs of light danced to their own musical tune as he painted an ocean with moving waves. A pot lay on the stove, boiling with some new potion or other. (His current favorite was a small luck elixir that he would slip into his water bottle with ever major test he took.) A desk was littered with small pins that replaced the amulets talked about in the books he had found. His lonely apartment eventually began to thrive with the very energy of the city as he had learned to master and control it.

This unusual way of life soon became his own and somehow, the boy found he didn't mind it as much as he had originally thought. He may scowl at the outside world that had scorned him but he found solace in the quiet alleyways where only the music of the murals could be heard.

It was at one such mural that everything changed.

School had been particularly rough and he needed quiet. The closest escape was down in Udagawa with CAT's latest mural. The mural sung a calming tune despite the almost sinister picture of the reaper and it was a surefire way to ease his angry thoughts. Fire flicked around his fingers and he extinguished it quickly by shoving his hands into his pockets.

Not even halfway up the steps, his headphones were slipping from his ears so he could pick up on the soothing music and that was when he heard it. A quiet humming that perfectly matched the melody of the spell the mural held drifted in the air and he froze where he stood.

Another boy was there, an unusual sight in itself for no one ever seemed to visit. He was young with ashy hair and pale skin. Fine clothes contrasted greatly against the grubby area and he gave off the distinct feeling that he didn't get out that much. But he was still humming the song, fingers tracing the already fading paint.

Eventually, the newcomer seemed to notice that he wasn't alone and he turned to face the loner, grey eyes meeting blue.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at the only other person who seemed to be able to pick up on this invisible world besides himself before he was able to force himself to speak.

"You… you can hear it too?" The words came quiet and hesitant as if almost scared to even hope that there was someone else. The slow nod that followed took the very breath from his lungs.

He wasn't alone.


End file.
